The Risen Phoenix
by fisico
Summary: This single chapter story describes the creation of the Killing Curse and how it fell into use by TRVoldemort. It ties with canon through the sixth book.


**The Risen Phoenix**

The blue and gold flame flickered before the young boy as a glistening pool of melted wax formed at the base of the wick. The molten puddle burgeoned, and then a tiny tear fell down the yellow shaft leaving a thin track that glinted and then hazed over into a dull sheen. He watched as more glistening tears fell, wondering if the wars springing up around the world caused such tears to be shed, wondering if they too left tracks that never really went away even after the burning. He thought he could see the tears in people's eyes long after they had dried away, but perhaps it was his imagination dancing like the giddy fire sparkling before him.

The wind whistled through the windows and he pulled his secondhand school robes high onto his shoulders. His feet were cold. His ears were cold. His hands were cold. Shivering slightly, he imagined one day having enough money to purchase a decent pair of socks. The flame called to him once again. Finally, he was tempted enough to reach out his finger to see if —

"Albus Dumbledore!"

His hand snapped back to his quill and he began to scribble madly. The last thing he needed was to be booted out of Hogwarts in his first term. Certainly Professor de Montmorency would be the one to do it. Merlin, how he hated potions.

"It's bad enough, boy, that I must endure the endless drivel from Headmaster Everard about your genius. So far, the only thing I've been able to deduce is that you never pay attention in class, and your favorite pastime is detention."

He looked up to see his classmates, nearly all in new robes, looking at him with a mixture of disdain and pity. He hated pity. His thoughts began to darken, and a gurgling emotion began to raise its ugly head just as the flame glinted green and he caught sight of—

x-x-x-x-x

"Albus… Albus, are you daydreaming again?"

Bleary eyed, Dumbledore looked over at his mentor, blinked one eye, and offered up a weak smile. He stroked his auburn beard and continued to stir the cauldron before him. They had been working together for weeks and were still no closer to finding a solution.

"Albus, you really must get your sleep. This can wait until morning."

"Tell that to the mother whose son dies tonight out in the trenches," replied Dumbledore, singly focused on the cauldron before him.

Nicolas Flamel stepped over to the wizard seated on the large wooden bench and lightly squeezed his arm. "My dear friend, Muggles may think this is the _first_ war of the world, but it's not; nor will it be the last. I have seen too many tyrants collapse from their own weight. It is only a matter of time. You'll see."

"And how many more must die?"

"Muggles?" Nicolas asked.

"Yes, Muggles!" snapped Dumbledore, his voice pitching higher. "Do you think their lives any less valuable?"

"N-No, certainly not," replied Nicolas hastily. "I only meant—"

"How many wizards are born to Muggles, Nicolas? Their number grows every day. Who is to say that, one day, a Muggle will give birth to a witch or wizard that might come to save the world, or perhaps their children, or their children's children, or their—"

"Yes, yes, I understand," said Nicolas, holding out his hands in surrender.

The two worked silently through the night, trying to perfect the potion that would help render the war's poison gasses harmless. Finally, well after the sun had risen into the morning sky, they were ready. Dumbledore brought in a small white goat on a short lead of rope, and flicked his wand, freezing the creature's feet to the floor.

"I'm sorry, dear fellow," he whispered to the goat. Then, looking up at Nicolas, he said, "I don't think I can bear another failure."

"Neither can I, Albus," said Nicolas with a pained look on his face. "Another night of goat gumbo…" He sighed, and clucked his tongue.

Dumbledore levitated two small vials beneath the goat, and shattered one at the goat's feet. A plume of yellow mustard gas began to waft upward, swirling about the goat's legs. In that instant, the other vial shattered and a plume of red eddied about, rising more quickly than its yellow companion. Soon, the red cloud swirled over the yellow and then swallowed it, until there was nothing left.

"Yes!" cried Dumbledore, slapping Nicolas on the arm, but no sooner had the cry left his lips than the red began to turn brown. In the next instant, there was a tremendous flash of green and the goat lay dead on the ground. Albus kicked his foot at the wooden bench and sent the cauldron tumbling over onto the floor.

"That was much closer," offered Nicolas in consolation. "I'm sure we'll find the antidote next time."

Albus Dumbledore walked over and knelt next to the goat he'd just killed. From all outward appearances, the animal looked untouched. He leaned down closer. The goat's eyes were open, frozen with an absolute look of terror. From the corner of the creature's eye, he could swear he saw a tear drip down. He could feel his own tears begin to well up inside. Only he wasn't sure it was because he had failed or because—

x-x-x-x-x

"Professor Dumbledore? Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore broke from his trance to see a young girl in blue robes holding a piece of parchment up to his face. The Transfiguration exam for the third years was over, and she was first to finish. He took it from her hand and placed it on his desk.

"Very good, my dear," he said with a nod, and smiled gently. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The Ravenclaw student beamed back at him, and kept smiling as she walked away. Dumbledore closed his eyes and tried to re-catch the thought that was tickling his memories.

"Sir, here's _my_ exam." The new voice crushed any hope he had at regaining the memory, and thrust him back to the present. "I'm sure you'll find it superior to the drivel you were just given. She only handed it in now because she saw me putting my things away."

Professor Dumbledore reached over and took the parchment from the young man with jet black hair and dark eyes.

"Thank you, Tom," he said impassively, placing the parchment on top of the other with a sigh. Tom Riddle, a bit put off that he didn't get the attention he expected, turned on his heels and left the class. No sooner had he passed out the door, than a familiar face appeared through it.

"Is the exam over?" asked the man with eyes as old as the ages.

"Nicolas! What brings you to Hogwarts?"

Nicolas Flamel smiled at Professor Dumbledore and then pointed his thumb over his shoulder back toward the door. "Was that the boy?" he asked quietly stepping up to the front desk. Dumbledore turned to Nicolas and his eyes relayed that this was neither the place, nor the time. Nicolas opted for a chair in the corner and nodded off.

It wasn't long before the students had vacated and the two men were alone in the Transfiguration classroom. Nicolas woke from his nap and unfolded his arms.

"Well?" he asked with a yawn.

"Yes, Nicolas, that's the one I wrote you about," answered Dumbledore, and then he chuckled grimly to himself. "I'm surprised he didn't—"

The door opened and in walked Tom Riddle. His hair was perfect; the earlier sourness that puckered his face had dripped away, and he wore an enigmatic smile that could warm the hearts… of lesser men.

"I'm sorry, Professor; I had one more… oh, Warlock Flamel! What an honor to meet you." Tom held out his hand, and Nicolas graciously took it in his own. "I've heard so much about your work."

"Thank you," answered Nicolas agreeably. "And you are?"

"Oh, forgive me, sir. My name is Tom, Tom Riddle. I'm a Slytherin here at Hogwarts." He said these last words quite proudly, as if they held more meaning.

"Yes," said Nicolas, "I can see that." The old wizard reached up and briefly held the green and white scarf that curled around Tom Riddle's neck. Undaunted, the young Riddle boy pressed on.

"Your stone is most famous, you know. We studied it in potions this year. How did you possibly get the—" Nicolas held up his hand and smiled.

"If you've read about me, then you know I don't discuss the stone with anyone."

"But—"

"Tom," interrupted Professor Dumbledore, "you had something to say to _me_?" Tom looked up at Dumbledore and, for a beat, he was confused.

"Say? Oh… I'm sorry, sir. I've forgotten." He turned back to Nicolas and said, "Pleasure to meet you, sir." He then excused himself and left the room. When he walked out, and the door closed behind him, Nicolas let out a long, slow whistle.

"Unbelievable," he whispered, and then he turned to Dumbledore. "And you say he's gifted too?" Dumbledore nodded. "That's a very dangerous combination, Albus."

"Yes, Nic," said Dumbledore sadly. "I know." He straightened up in his chair and took in a deep breath. "But you're not here to talk about one's fall to darkness, are you?"

"Well, perhaps I am, Albus. Perhaps I am." Nicolas began pacing about the room. It was the most nervous Dumbledore had ever seen him. Finally, Nicolas turned and said, "You know he has no intentions of stopping, don't you?"

"Who? The boy?"

"No! Of course not," Nicolas shot dismissively. "I'm talking about the greatest evil the age has known -- Grindelwald!"

"You-Know-Who? But I thought—"

"Use his name, man!" shot Nicolas. "I can't believe you, of all wizards, would put fear in a name!"

"Forgive me, Nic," said Dumbledore with a slow deferential nod. "Nonetheless, the Ministry—"

"The Ministry is made of ostriches, and their heads are firmly planted in the sand! Grindelwald was born of the Caucus Mountains, spawned beneath the magical lair of Firehorn, and has never washed the evil from his fingertips!"

"But you say yourself, he is _only_ a wizard," offered Dumbledore, "flesh and blood like you and me. If he truly does move against us, surely he can be defeated."

"I was there when he led the charge to take Durmstrang. No spell touched him."

There was a rustling sound, and Nicolas glanced about the room, but saw no one. The sound was not unnoticed by Dumbledore. He too looked closely into the far corner as Nicolas nervously moved closer.

"Grindelwald has learned about Horcruxes. He may use them to ensure his immortality."

"No one would choose such a life!" Dumbledore rejoined emphatically.

"Grindelwald would!" Nicolas snapped back. "I'm certain that if he could find a way to endure the light of day, he would consider offering his neck to a vampire."

"Ridiculous!"

"In a year, he will have taken France! In three, all Britain will be under his control, and all who oppose him will be killed!" Nicolas' face was furious, his hand movements passionate, and his eyes ardent. "Albus, I need your help. We all need your help."

"There's nothing I can do."

"You've already done it."

"But I swore… we _both_ swore—"

x-x-x-x-x

"Al? Al, are you going to try it or not?"

Albus Dumbledore stood on a floor of straw, his arm outstretched, but his mind had wandered. He had worked tirelessly for two years to get to this point. Finally, he was ready to attempt the spell on the goat standing before him. But his heart was not in it.

"I… I don't think I can, Abe." Aberforth Dumbledore walked over to his brother's side.

"It may have taken the madman longer than Nicolas thought," said Aberforth, "but he was right. He's taken France, and if we don't find a way to stop him, he'll kill us all. "Go on, Al. Give it a go."

It had taken many sleepless nights to synthesize the potion that had, years ago, killed a similar goat. Once Dumbledore understood the common elements, and connected the magical strands to the earth's energy, he began to weave the spell. Finally, he was convinced the spell was ready to be tested, but he dreaded the energy it would draw from him and the ultimate result of what the existence of such a spell might mean to the world. The curse would rent the earth's natural flow and rhythm, leaving a gaping scar in its magical fabric. Staring at the goat, Dumbledore took in a long breath.

He questioned if a Killing Curse was the only way to defeat Grindelwald. Yet, to date, none had been able to stop the dark wizard, even after he declared open war against the Wizarding world, and with each passing day more died. He rolled his wand between his fingers and pointed it at the goat.

"_Kordova Kedavra!"_ he shouted, and an intense beam of red light erupted from his wand and blasted the goat across the stable. A hole the size of a galleon ran right through the creature's heart. It was dead, and Aberforth whooped.

"Woohoo!" he cried. "You did it!" He bent low to examine the goat, and then looked up at his brother. "Do you think it's still safe to eat?" Dumbledore slumped his shoulders and then kicked a bucket with his foot and sent it flying.

"_Aaargh!"_ he yelled, and fell back against the wooden wall. Then he whispered, "I failed."

"What do you mean?" questioned Aberforth. "It's dead."

"No offense, Al, but even you could have deflected that spell." He sighed again and looked to the sky. "I need time to think. Don't wait up."

There was a snap, and a moment later Dumbledore Apparated to a miscellaneous part of Britain to walk among Muggles. It always seemed to help clear his mind.

As he quietly walked the quaint Muggle village, he came to a small sweet shop, _Godric's Hollow Candies_, and stepped inside. The air was filled with the warm aroma of fresh fudge and Dumbledore could feel the saliva swell beneath his tongue. For a Muggle shop the confections were astounding: shapes, colors and flavors to tempt the most discriminating wizard. And when it came to sweets, Albus Dumbledore was certainly the most discriminating. He was considering a large collection of lemon drops when an older woman appeared from a back room holding a large tray of turtle clusters. When her eyes met Dumbledore's, a welcoming smile broke across her face.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked.

"Actually," he said, eyeing the lemon drops once more, "I was considering— "

"We don't get many of your types around here."

The statement gave Dumbledore a start. He reached up to his head thinking he'd forgotten to remove his hat, and then tapped his overcoat; everything seemed in order.

"My type?"

"Yes, adults who get as giddy over candy as little children." She stepped over to him and patted his arm. "I can see the joy in your eyes." She was flirting with him, and he enjoyed it.

"Actually, my dear, your eyes are—" He froze. Her beautiful eyes bore a bright twinkle that captivated him. They were almond-shaped, and sparkled a brilliant green. In that instant, it all came together in his mind; the years of effort were about to pay off. Finally, he sputtered, "Enchanting!" He held her face in his hands and kissed her cheek, then spun on his heels and headed for the door.

"But what about the lemon drops?" she asked. He stopped for a moment and looked around the shop holding it forever in his mind.

"I'll be back," he answered fervently. "I promise." He then stepped out the door, the bell jingling as it swung shut behind him. A moment later he had Apparated to his brother's home in Hogsmeade. Aberforth was napping in his chair, some Celtic tune playing over the Wireless.

"Abe! Wake up!" Dumbledore cried. Startled, Aberforth reached for his wand, and in so doing knocked over a bottle of mead. The liquid spilt out, spreading across the floor. Aberforth cursed, but did not bother to take the time to clean it up.

"What?" he snapped. "I thought we were done with this business tonight."

"Get up fool, and fetch another goat! I've figured it out!" Like a child learning to read for the first time, Dumbledore was filled with excitement.

It took longer than expected for Aberforth to return, and when he did walk through the front door dragging a goat behind him, he was clearly agitated.

"Damn Hogsmeade visits," he muttered under his breath. He pulled the goat in, but in his haste neglected to secure the door. "Ran into a particularly plucky boy in green."

"Never mind the students," said Dumbledore, not really listening. "They'll be on their way back to the castle soon." He motioned for Aberforth to position the goat in the corner of the room. "I don't know why I didn't see it earlier Abe; you just mentioned it. Green… it was green all along."

"If you say so, Al," huffed Aberforth, wiping his brow with his sleeve. He stepped away from the goat as Dumbledore raised his wand with determination in his eyes.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ he cried out. A blast of green light erupted, rushed toward the goat, and the creature collapsed where it was standing. The two wizards stepped over and examined the creature. It was dead, staring blankly up at them with a terrified expression on its face.

"You did it!" Aberforth cried out, and he slapped his brother on the back. "Can it be blocked?" The second question was less energetic than the first.

"I… I don't think so," said Dumbledore in a more subdued voice as he looked down at the goat. Both men were feeling the effects of the curse that had just been cast; a small slash in the earth's magical fabric.

"Then Grindelwald can be defeated! And to think I used to punch you in the nose when we were little. Sorry for that." Aberforth flicked his brother's nose. "You know, Al, you may have saved the world."

"I'm not so sure about that, Abe. It will take months, maybe years for us to test the spell to be sure."

"We could try it on some of the spies we've captured."

"Don't be absurd. It's a schism of nature; the Centaurs wouldn't approve. We must—" There was a click at the entrance, and both of them looked up to find nothing but the closed door.

"Must have been the wind," offered Aberforth.

"Yes… the wind," whispered Dumbledore.

x-x-x-x-x

"Excuse me, Albus. Albus! May I borrow the paper?"

Visibly shaken, Albus Dumbledore looked up blankly from the black newsprint to the eyes of Professor Merrythought.

"C-Certainly, Galatea," muttered Dumbledore, and he handed her the paper, dropping his face into his hands. She sat down next to him and then realized he handed her a Muggle newspaper.

"A Muggle paper?" she asked. "Why on earth would you… Is it this article here? The one about the mysterious deaths?" His face still in his hands, Dumbledore remained silent. Professor Merrythought read the paper and then shrugged her shoulders.

"Strange, true enough. But why on earth would you care?"

"Don't you see?" he asked weakly. "It's as if Slytherin himself is guiding my hand."

"I don't understand?" she said, surprised.

"No," he whispered, "but the new Prefect does." Dumbledore looked down at the young man standing at the Slytherin table who was brashly showing off his shiny new badge. The glint striking…

x-x-x-x-x

…his eyes.

"Eez zat zee best zee Ministry of Magic haz to offer!"

The sun shimmered off the sea and sparkled in Dumbledore's face. He was exhausted, surrounded by blasted bodies -- casualties from both sides of the war. But Grindelwald still stood tall without the least concern that, like his foes, his own men had been decimated. He was about to take Britain; only two wizards stood in his way, Albus and Aberforth, and Aberforth was down on one knee, crumpling to the sand. The wizards of Britain had tried everything they could, and still the onslaught came, wave after wave of furious red light blasting everything in its path.

Dumbledore had resisted all temptation to use the Killing Curse he had created. At Hogwarts he knew that there was a darkness growing that would dwarf that of the wizard now standing before him. Already the Chamber had been opened, a student and three Muggles had died, Hagrid had been expelled, and rumors of Horcruxes and other deaths were swirling about. If only he'd had time to pay more attention, if only—

Another blast of red light came his way and he deflected it with his wand, but the nearby blast laid Aberforth flat on his face.

"You zeem concerned about your fellow vizard, Dumbledore," croaked Grindelwald with a froggy voice. "Perhaps I should inzinerate him and put zee matter out of your mind." The madman held out his wand to kill his fallen foe, but the spell never left his lips.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The green light erupted from Dumbledore's wand. Grindelwald dismissively uttered a protection spell but the rush of green was undeterred. It struck him squarely as a look of astonishment and then terror spread across his face -- a look that remained in his frozen eyes as he fell to the sand.

Dumbledore walked over and looked down at his adversary as an ocean wave lapped at the dead wizard's robes. He began to shiver, shaking his head. A hand wrapped around his shoulder offering comfort. A steak of blood was running down Aberforth's face.

"You did what you had to do, Al," he said softly, as the gulls circled overhead. "You've saved countless lives." A large wave crashed itself upon the nearby rocks, and as water dripped down to the tide-pools below, Dumbledore couldn't help but think of tears -- thousands of tears.

"You saved the world from a madman, Al. You know that, don't you?" Dumbledore looked back to face his brother.

"Have I?" he asked, pools welling in his eyes. He looked down at the terrified expression staring up into nothingness. "What have I done? It's unforgivable."

x-x-x-x-x

"Unforgivable? What's unforgivable," shot back Frank Longbottom, "is that we're outnumbered twenty to one! Aberforth, pour me one more. Merlin knows when I'll have another." Aberforth slid another mug in front of Frank, and the Auror held it up in toast. "To the Order!" Aberforth held up his mug, but Albus stayed stoic, staring into space. "Albus?"

"Did you feel that?" Dumbledore asked. "Like the earth itself was screaming in pain."

"The only thing I feel," replied Frank, "is indigestion from that meal at Rosemerta's. I'll be glad when Alice has time to cook again."

"Of course they needed more than a Fidelius charm," Dumbledore muttered to himself. He was speaking gibberish, at least as far as the other two were concerned. "Something's wrong," he whispered. "I can feel it in my…" He stood and stroked his gray beard. "I can't say where they are, but—" He was suddenly jolted backwards, almost as if he'd been hit with a stunner squarely in the chest.

"I felt it that time," said Aberforth in a hushed whisper. Frank looked confused.

"Of course you would," answered Albus. "You helped create it."

He was feeling suddenly nauseous, and the room began to spin a bit. When the earth quaked, they all felt the rent in the magical fabric around them -- a third attack.

"It's the Potters!" cried Dumbledore. "Somewhere near… of course! Frank, find Alice and get your boy to safety. They're on the move."

With a snap, Dumbledore Apparated to Godric's Hollow. The instant he arrived, he felt the disturbance and moved toward it, wand drawn. The Potter home was destroyed; not a single board was left unscathed. It might just as well have been struck by a meteor from the heavens except for one notable exception -- the small baby boy wrapped in an ash covered blanket cooing in the very midst of the disaster, unaware that his mother lay dead at his side. Dumbledore expected Death Eaters and found none. He expected to sense Tom's presence, but that too was absent. Trembling, tears flowing from his eyes, he moved toward the small child. He stepped up on the first landing of rubble when a blast of white light pulsated toward him and threw him to the ground. It came from the boy.

"Curious," Dumbledore said to himself as he pushed himself up on one elbow. This time preparing himself, he tried again, but was again struck and thrown backward. "Ancient magic," he whispered to himself. No wizard would pass this barrier, but Dumbledore knew someone who might.

He was about to Apparate, when he looked back one last time at the small boy in the center of the ashes. Whatever caused this was more than the curse he had created. Then, suddenly, Dumbledore's stooped back straightened and his eyes filled with a clarity that none had seen in months.

"_Like a phoenix from the fire."_

x-x-x-x-x

"Phoenix! Forgive me, Headmaster, but do you mind if I tell you YOU'RE INSANE!"

Severus Snape paced the Headmaster's office as Dumbledore stroked Fawkes with his good hand, the other blackened and shriveled. The aged wizard was lost in thought, oblivious to Snape's protestations.

"Not to mention," Snape continued, "what will happen to _me_ if it fails!"

"It will not fail," whispered Dumbledore, still stroking the bird.

"Sir, it's one thing for a magical creature like a Phoenix to swallow the Avada Kedavra curse; it's a far greater matter for a wizard… an ill wizard," he emphasized, looking at the Headmaster's hand, "to capture the curse."

"And you would know this how?" asked Dumbledore, narrowing his eyes at the Slytherin Head of House.

"You know why," spat Snape. "I've used it!" He said these words without pride, more with a sense of defeat. He turned away, looking at the various silver instruments that lined one particularly dusty shelf. Dumbledore walked over and took his arm.

"Severus," he said hoarsely, "I _created_ it!"

In all the world, there were only a handful of wizards that knew the true source of the Killing Curse, and this information was obviously news to Snape. He spun to look at Dumbledore.

"I thought the Dark—"

"He stole it from me," answered Dumbledore, and now it was his voice that was defeated. "Or, perhaps, I taught it to him." He walked over and sat at his desk, pondering the darkened hand before him. "There is no one that knows the nature of this abomination better than me. Since the death of the Potters I've known there was a way to defeat the evil I created, the darkness I unleashed on the world. I may not be able to close Pandora's box, but I can destroy it." He leaned forward and held Snape's eyes in his own. "Who better than me to determine if I'm right, and who better than you to deliver the blow?"

"But Potter, certainly—"

"He must not know. His link with Voldemort is too great. If the plan is to work, he must never know."

"And if I'm not the first to make it to you? What if Draco—"

"You know as well as I do where his heart lies, and it is not with his father."

The blood began to drain from Snape's face, and he shook his head. "No, I won't do it! I can't do it!"

"Severus… please…"

x-x-x-x-x

A flash of green and now only the shining skull blazing in the stars above.

Falling… falling…

They say, when a person dies, their life passes before their eyes. For Albus Dumbledore, that vision swept before him when he ran into the Mirror of Erised earlier in the day. He was heading to the entrance hall to meet Harry, and somehow found himself in a deserted storage room. He knew at once what the dusty white canvas covered, and on any other day he would have turned around without a second thought. Only today he reached out his hand and pulled loose the canvas to reveal the image, at first, of an aged wizard with a withered hand.

The image changed to a small child, warm and filled with wonder at the world around him -- a world without war; a world where candles dripped etched designs of beauty, not tears; a world where mustard made good curry and nothing more; a world where Nicolas and Albus challenged each other at chess, never mentioning Horcruxes or Killing Curses; a world with no such extracurricular experiments for Tom Riddle to learn his dark craft -- skills taught by the very wizard that brought him to Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore saw a beautiful woman and was able to love her green eyes in all their emerald splendor, and this time kept the promise he had forsaken. For a long, deep breath he savored the moment and then turned his back on the mirror.

That future would lead to other wars, other hatreds. That future would not contain the shining hope of the present generation -- the boy left behind on the battlements above, the young man who showed him how to live once again, the man who showed him how to die.

The last thing he heard was the tearful cry of Fawkes -- the risen Phoenix.


End file.
